


In Search of Jaskier

by AnneTaylor



Series: When Wolves Fall [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: Geralt has been tasked by the golden dragon Borch Three Jackdaws to bring Jaskier to the Dragon Mountains.  Geralt expects it to be an easy task; show up, and the bard will follow him anywhere.Geralt is in for a surprise.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: When Wolves Fall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621207
Comments: 8
Kudos: 192





	In Search of Jaskier

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has been a long time in coming. I don’t do throw-away characters. Jaskier wasn’t my first choice for Geralt’s love interest when I started writing the series, but once I had decided he was an integral part of the story I needed to knew who he was. It has been a year since he was driven off by Geralt. What was he doing during that time, how did it change him? The more I delved into his history the more intrigued I became, and the more I understood what Borch saw in Jaskier. Geralt starts out by being as much of an ass as he was at the end of Rare Breed, expecting Jaskier to be the same man he left behind. He’s in for a surprise.

If Geralt had thought finding Jaskier would be an easy task, he was soon disabused of that belief. There were rumors everywhere. He seemed to have made quite a name for himself in Aedirn. It was an odd choice, Geralt mused as he and Roach slogged through the muddy roads north of Mount Carbon, on the way to Aldersberg. The bard would have been inclined to avoid any contact with Yennefer; perhaps he sensed that she'd stay as far away from Vengerberg as she possibly could.

Geralt finally picked up a trail not more than a week old in Aldersberg. Jaskier had played at the wedding of Lord Drugan and his child bride, and had stayed for the feasting and post wedding festivities. It was interesting; Jaskier had apparently left the celebration of his own volition, not chased off by a cuckolded husband or angry father.

From there the way was less certain. Geralt had just come from the west and had found no trace of him there, so he headed north. In a small farming community, in an inn called Three Black Hens his inquiries found fruit. Yes, Jaskier had played at the inn a couple of days ago and was he the white haired Witcher the bard had sung about, the famous White Wolf?

As always, it was strange to be welcomed, treated as if he had the right to a meal and a bed. It made Geralt a little uncomfortable. He had driven Jaskier away, made him feel unwanted, and Jaskier was still singing Geralt's praises and easing his way through the normally hostile world of humans.

 _I should thank him for that. I never have_.

 _I never wanted it_. It was easier to keep to himself, Geralt admitted. Outside of humanity, separated from them. When they welcomed him into their fellowship it just made the pain fresh and new, the next time they spat upon him and called him monster. It was part of why he had always tried to keep Jaskier at arm’s length. The man wanted to draw him into something he had no right to, something too painful to contemplate.

One man reported that Jaskier had mentioned that he was off to Vengerberg after this. A command performance for the king. Geralt suspected this was typical Jaskier grandiosity, but there was probably at least a kernel of truth in it. He would look for Jaskier in Vengerberg.

He was tempted to look up a certain pig keeper in Vengerberg, to ask him about the price of his pigs. His hand unconsciously found the hilt of his sword. But Yen wouldn't thank him for it, and he'd regret it afterwards. Better not to try to wrestle Yen’s demons away from her. She had let him share them with her once, and once was enough. Yen’s demons hit hard.

The evening court of the king of Aedirn was a splendid affair. Everybody said so. Geralt counted two dozen servants circulating, glittering like scarlet and gold boats on a river, passing out food and drink. There were another dozen in the drab brown of domestic servants, cleaning up spills, whisking away empty glasses and mugs.

The king himself was grizzled and loud. His hair was still jet black, obviously the result of some kind of dye. Most of the nobility bore the marks of cosmetics and all of them glittered from rings and pendants whose purpose was obviously display rather than good taste.

It hadn't been difficult to find someone's back to ride on to this event. Nobles were forever at each other's throats and even the least offensive of them had enemies. An invented conversation overheard in a bar did the job nicely. He insisted that his only purpose in bringing the news was to prevent bloodshed and he could not possibly accept coin for so small a thing, which led to the terrified young nobleman hiring him on the spot to bodyguard him through the event.

Aside from the fact that it was a job, and the food was good, the evening was obviously a complete waste of his time. He'd seen nothing of Jaskier, nor heard the sort of commotion he would have expected if Jaskier or had already begun to “work the room” as he called it.

His time would have been better spent searching the bars and inns of the city, Geralt thought morosely. Well, tomorrow, then. He folded his arms and trailed after his employer, who seemed to have gotten past his initial alarm quickly enough and was now preening at the attention Geralt was gathering for him.

Two girls, no, young women, no, not all that young, seen up close, approached Geralt, giggling. One of them put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. “He's so big!” she announced in a thrilled voice. The other gave him an obviously practiced smoldering look and leaned in. “We're in need of a bodyguard. We can pay better than he can.” Her dismissal of Geralt’s employer was calculated to be seen and heard. The young man flushed.

“Already on contract,” Geralt told them.

“When does your contract end?” The first woman was a blond with full lips, perfectly blushing cheeks and a bosom that would give Yennefer's a run for the money.

Midnight was the standard which they had agreed on. At half past eleven, Geralt would escort him to his waiting carriage and see him safely home. Geralt had no doubt that if he agreed to meet the women at midnight, they'd fall on him like hungry wolves. Definitely not the innocents. Two of them hunting in pairs meant it was less likely there would be a husband to deal with.

Normally he would take what was offered. Better than having to pay for your pleasure, although noblewomen tended to be a lot more demanding than whores.

But...he was surprised at how little the idea appealed to him. There was a strange restlessness in his bones, like the feeling of an ozone thick morning just before the storm broke. He didn't understand it. Something the damn crystals were doing to him? It felt like nausea. It felt like anticipation. He wondered if someone had drugged his food. Wouldn't be the first time.

“Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please?” A tall man draped in medallions and chains of office had risen from his seat next to the king. The assembled notables quieted down, at least the ones who were sober enough to manage it. “We have a rare treat for your entertainment tonight. A bard skilled in both performance and composition, lately come from a triumphant tour of the country, building up to the crown jewel of his performances here tonight, my very fortunate Lords and Ladies I give you Askilon of Zerrikania."

The crowd in the center of the room parted and Jaskier swept onto the floor.

Geralt choked on his beer, spraying droplets across the floor. A servant scurried over to clean it up. Zerrikania? What the fuck…Jasker probably didn’t even know where that was. Geralt snorted. Obviously, Borch’s two companions had made a lasting impression on the bard.

Jaskier’s smile was welcoming, his eyes slightly dreamy, as if his gaze extended far beyond the borders of the room. The song he sang was one which Geralt had never heard before. There was a sadness in it, not so much the words but the chords themselves. Sad notes, he had once explained to Geralt. Minor keys.

It was a ballad that propelled the hall’s inhabitants into a storm of anticipation and dread. A beautiful lady, whose lordly husband had been called to war. The enemy overran the valley. She was forced to don rags and work at rude tasks, trying to keep her identity a secret. The enemy was searching for the wife of the master strategist who was devastating their forces. Loyal servants were killed. She mourned them, beautifully tearful in the refrain. Nobody betrayed her. Until somebody did. Her hands were bound, her hair flowed free, and then over the mountain came a roar. It was the victorious army returning, of course. Geralt rubbed at his eyes in irritation.

Many of the women were openly sobbing, embracing their husbands and lovers. Then Jaskier’s face changed, suddenly; it was like the sun had sprouted a plume of comfort from beneath a brooding thunderhead. He began to play a gentle waltz, and the couples swung out onto the floor.

Many songs followed; a lively minuet, a changing partners dance, a rib splitting cautionary song on the dangers of leaving your wife to her own devices for too long...

A couple of times Geralt thought he caught Jaskier’s eyes on him, but the bard never approached. Whenever a song finished there was a man by his side with a mug of ale. The man was one of those southerners who didn't know how close was too close; he kept bumping Jaskier’s arm and brushing his hand over his clothing and attempting to rearrange his hair.

Fucking noblemen. Fucking dancing. Geralt's restlessness was beginning to spill out onto his face. He could feel himself scowling. How much longer till this had finished and he could get on with what he was here to do?

Finally, the king stood up and exited the room. Apparently, this was the general signal for the end of the entertainment, because everyone started filing out the doors.

Geralt looked around for Jaskier. He was at the end of the room, surrounded by women. Geralt snorted. Same old Jaskier. He wondered which of them the bard was pursuing tonight. The redhead with the huge bosom, perhaps, or the sly eyed blond draped in jeweled ropes. Or both.

“The carriage is this way,” his employer pointed out with a trace of irritation on his thin lips.

“Wait here,” Geralt told him, and headed across the room. It was odd; he'd have expected Jaskier to have sought him out at least once during the course of the evening. He'd had enough chances.

And he hadn't played any Witcher songs. Geralt frowned. His parting with Jaskier had obviously left wounds. Or anger, at least. _I don't want to have to deal with this, I really don't. I’m made to kill monsters. It's a simple life. People are too complicated._ Except when it came to sex; that was fairly simple. _I don't know why Borch even bothering to include me on this...dragon rescue. I've no skills that would be helpful._

_I'm a weapon. Nothing else. That is all I will ever be._

Jaskier took a polite moment to disengage from the ladies before turning his attention to Geralt. “Hello Geralt.” The bard’s gaze travelled down the length of Geralt’s body, noting the freshly healed scars that were a souvenir of the living forest encounter. His eyes fastened on the blue shirt that Yen had created for him, peeping out from beneath his cuirass. “Blue suits your hair,” he remarked. “Not your eyes, though. You see ladies, in order to achieve the most dramatic effect you must be aware of not only what you are wearing, but how it changes your appearance...”

“Who's your friend?” The blond gave Geralt an appraising look, the tip of her tongue barely visible between her lips as she licked them.

“This is Geralt of Rivia. He is, as you might have guessed from the medallion, a Witcher.”

“A Witcher!” A young, dark-haired girl shrank back. “They're demons, aren't they? Their blood is poisoned; if you touch them it can burn you...”

Several of the girls drew back, alarmed. Geralt spotted a guard drifting toward him.

“Emmaline...my dear...your mother has told you a number of things, all quite appropriately intended to keep a beautiful, young, innocent girl such as yourself out of trouble. Heed your mother's words when she tells you not to expose yourself to dangerous situations. However,” Jaskier let a comforting smile settle over his lips “I happen to know for a fact that there is nothing demonic about Witchers, and that this one in particular poses no threat to anyone in this hall...” His eyes sought Geralt's with a question and Geralt shook his head.

Jaskier relaxed.

“Where will you be playing tonight, Jaskier?” the redhead asked.

Jaskier patted her head indulgently. “A disreputable inn the likes of which you should never even know the existence of, let alone visit. Off with you, ladies, before your escorts come in search of me and I'm forced to fight a duel with lute and wit alone against a sea of outraged rapiers.”

The ladies all laughed delightedly.

“Witcher!” Geralt's employer sounded like he was about to explode. “I'm not paying you to flirt! Come escort me!””

Jaskier’s eyebrow rose up into his hairline.

“Not what he meant,” grunted Geralt. “Bodyguard.”

“Eloquent as always. Well, I should leave you to your duties...”

“Wait.” This wasn't going at all the way Geralt had imagined. Jaskier hadn't even asked him why he was here. “Where are you staying?”

“I hadn't decided yet,” Jaskier told him thoughtfully. “Why? Do you want a recommendation?”

“No, I...” Geralt scowled. Why was Jaskier being so difficult? “I want to talk to you. About a job.”

Jaskier’s eyes grew distant. “What sort of job? New monster I assume? I think I've chronicled most of the old ones.”

“No. Not a job for me. A job for you.” Geralt dug through his memories of conversations with Borch. What was he not allowed to talk about? “For the dragon. Borch. You remember him?”

“I remember. Funny, that he sent you instead of coming himself. He didn't...” Jaskier broke off. “I'm not saying I'll be interested, mind you. My habits have grown less migratory. But I intend to have breakfast at the Silver Tree Inn in the merchant’s quarters. If you want to talk, that's where I'll be in the morning.”

He walked off and was joined at the door by the young man who had been so attentive to him earlier. The man put his arm possessively on Jaskier’s shoulder and the two of them exited the room.

Well.

Fuck.

This wasn't going well at all, Geralt thought, as he headed back to finish off his contract for the night. Jaskier wasn't being Jaskier. How could so many things have changed in so short a time? And what the fuck was with his name, Askilon of Zerrikania?


End file.
